


The Longness of Semper

by onceuponachildhood



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/F, Gen, Headcanon, RVB Ladies Night, Spoilers, possible canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 16:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2355509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponachildhood/pseuds/onceuponachildhood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some moments she remembers with more clarity that others. A look at the before, the after, and the in-between of canon for one Lieutenant Katie Jensen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Longness of Semper

**Author's Note:**

> Written partially because there’s a sad lack of Katie Jensen, and partially for RVB Ladies’ Night. Spoilers up to episode 12x18. Jesus this was only supposed to be like 1000 words.

* * *

Katie Jensen is fifteen when her world starts crumbling around her. It’s the Federation soldier that does it, and perhaps that’s where it really starts. Katie grew up in a nice neighborhood - one of the nicest on Chorus that wasn’t in the actual capital. Her parents had money for braces and music lessons and pretty much everything they could want. It’s one of the reasons her older brother joins the Federal Army. Private First Class Tyler Jensen. It makes their parents so proud. It makes Katie feel awed, that the same knobbly-kneed nerd that built pillow forts with her on rainy afternoons is fighting for their people. The same boy who helped her with long division and listened to her excited raving about her genetics class is now helping their people fight the nameless, faceless enemy.

It’s the Federation soldier that stands in the doorway and hands her mother the folded flag. It’s the Federation soldier in standard dress blues that stands just out of reach of the rain pouring down to deliver the news.  _Friendly fire_.  _Misunderstood orders_. Private First Class Tyler Jensen is dead due to a bureaucratic error of the worst magnitude. Katie Jensen hangs back and hears but doesn’t listen to the regulation platitudes coming from the stranger in regulation clothing while her world slowly, quietly crumbles around her. She turns away from the door before her father can shut it and makes her way back up the stairs to her own room. Katie locks the door and builds a fort of pillows and doesn’t come out for two days.

When she does come out, she walks down to the dinner table and joins her parents for their meal wearing rumpled clothes and a mussed braid. Nobody says anything and they eat in silence. Katie doesn’t directly look at her parents and they don’t directly look at her, but in her peripheral she can see her mother’s stony expression, her father’s tear-streaked face. She looks at her own dinner, eyes dry, and makes up her mind.

Katie Jensen takes her allowance for her music lessons and pays for a personal trainer instead. Her parents either don’t notice or don’t comment, and that suits her just fine. She doesn’t know exactly what she plans to do, not yet, but when she sleeps she dreams of holding a gun to Federal soldiers’ faces.

* * *

 

Katie Jensen is sixteen when the New Republic invades her home sector’s capital. School trip. Just her luck. They drive the civilians from the city hall, hold the city council up at gunpoint. They execute the mayor and his bodyguards publicly. In front of everyone still lingering outside, everyone still clamoring to see what was going on. From what she remembers from her politics class, the mayor is a particularly strong supporter of the Federation.  _Not anymore_ , her mind supplies. The leader of the squad, some woman with a real charismatic speaking voice, stands over the bodies and lectures the crowd. Katie shifts her backpack more as a habit than out of any actual discomfort. She’s standing on the fringes of the crowd, and a rebel soldier spots her. Does a double take. She realizes she’s exposed the gun she keeps holstered to her side, usually hidden under her jacket. “You there!” She tenses at the shout, but doesn’t run. Doesn’t panic. “I’m gonna need you to come with me.” In her peripheral, she sees two more rebels stepping forward.

Katie holds her hands up in an unmistakable gesture of surrender. “Of course,” she says, tone mild.

There’s a muzzle poking in the small of her back. Katie thinks that she could turn and take the gun, if she wanted. Her trainer taught her how. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to fight these people. She doesn’t want to die a Federal citizen. She walks, letting them lead her toward an alley and away from the crowd. One of her classmates catches her eye. Lydia. Not her best friend, by any stretch of the imagination, but a sweet girl. Lydia looks like she’s about to shout for help. Katie shakes her head once. It’s a moment Katie Jensen will remember forever - the ripples of shock, of resignation, that echo in her eyes. The last thing she sees of Lydia before the dirty brick walls of the alley obscure her is a sad, knowing smile. She registers, dimly, that Lydia’s cousin was in her brother's unit.

The rebels walk her for a couple of blocks, take her further and further away from the crowd until it’s quiet and the four of them and the silent city. Katie thinks it’s eerie, even now, how quickly you can be separated from others. “Sorry about this,” says one soldier, softly. Katie doesn’t startle, but it’s a near thing. “You have a weapon. Important figure exposed to the open. Protocol, you know?”

Katie closes her eyes and sees dress blues. Opens them and addresses the nearest rebel, the one who’d initially spotted her. “Hey, rebel dude. I got something to say about you people coming in and murdering Feds.” He turns to face her, shoulders squared. “Where do I sign up?”

“Wait, what?”

\--

The squad captain, a stern-faced young woman who introduces herself simply as Kimball, looks Katie up like she’s a particularly perplexing problem. Katie thinks it’s the same face she herself makes at advanced calculus, and straightens up as much as she can. She stands at parade rest. Kimball, standing in front of her, assumes a similar stance. “ _You_  want to join the New Republic.”

“Yes ma’am.” Katie responds politely. No reason not to. This captain could hold her future as a rebel in her hands, right here and now.

Kimball sighs, turns to the soldier standing to her right. “Is this some kind of joke?” She glares at the three who brought Katie in turn. “You think taking some Fed kid and having them do this is funny?” Her tone is dangerous, voice dropping lower.

Katie pays that danger no heed. She’s too busy seeing red of her own. “I’m no  _Fed kid_ ,” she spits. Maybe literally, knowing her lisp. She doesn’t care. Her fists are clenched, probably tight enough for her fingernails to cut into her palm. “And if you’re gonna lump me in with those bastards, you’d best just shoot me now and get it over with.”

She hears more than sees a couple of the soldiers take a step back. Kimball is eyeing her, though, looking from clenched fists to shaking shoulders with a raised eyebrow. “You hate the Federation that much?”

“I never wanna be associated with those murdering, good-for-nothing bureaucrats.”

Kimball hums. She’s considering Katie’s words. It’s enough to let her unclench her fists a little, but she doesn’t look away from the captain’s assessing gaze. When Kimball speaks, Katie feels her heart skip a beat. “You got a name, soldier?”

The effect of the captain’s words is immediate. Katie straightens, throws her arm up in a proper salute. A little blood trickles down her wrist. “Jensen.” She grins, baring glinting braces to the waiting soldiers.

“Welcome aboard, Jensen.”

* * *

 

It takes some finagling for her admittance, Kimball later tells her. Jensen hadn’t expected any different. She knows what Kimball isn’t telling her, about the near shouting match that Kimball had with the commander. That Kimball nearly got demoted just for suggesting that they let a kid join up. That Jensen would only be allowed assigning and missions after evaluations and tests and medical clearance. She hears all this from the gossip of the commander’s office.

Katie Jensen walks through the camp and she hears the whispers.  _That’s the kid who nearly shot Kimball_. Untrue, though she did get noticed because of her gun. The gun still proudly strapped to her side. She doesn’t wear a jacket to cover it up anymore.  _She’s like thirteen and blackmailed the commander for her admittance._  She’ll be seventeen in two weeks. And she didn’t blackmail anyone. Just dreamed of revenge until her mind nearly burned with it.  _Her parents were murdered by the Feds and she went off the deep end_ _._  That one hits a little close to home, and Jensen just barely restrains herself from decking the asshole in the mess hall.

“I hear she got captured and tortured by a Fed squad.”

Jensen stops dead. The voice is coming from her right, one of the currently unused sparring areas. She tiptoes over, hides behind an unused barrel. The gossiping soldiers are sprawled out on the dusty floor, clearly avoiding work and talking about things they know nothing about. “No way, man. That kid? She’s soft as all get out.”

“Dude, you didn’t hear about her meeting Kimball. She practically cut her own hands open.” The first voice belongs to a fresh-faced private. He can’t be much older than her at all. “And she was so casual about asking. She like straight-up said she wanted to murder Feds.” He makes a looping motion at his temple with his index finger. “Totally fucking bonkers.”

Jensen is about to step out and give them a piece of her mind when someone else steps into the ring. She doesn’t recognize him. He’s definitely older than most of the soldiers she sees - older than Kimball, at least in his thirties. He steps into the sparring ring with arms crossed and a frown on his face. The others sit up, instantly wary. “What was that, Bailey?”

“Oh, uh, Smith. Hey. Nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing to me,” replies the new guy. Smith.

The asshole on the floor, Bailey, scowls. “Seriously Smith, it’s none of your business. Just discussing our newest recruit.”

“I doubt her reasons for joining the New Republic are any of your business either.” Smith takes one step forward, and it’s enough to make the guys on the floor cringe back. “I’m sure it’s something more impressive than being rejected by even the Feds and having literally nowhere else to turn.” Bailey turns the most interesting shade of red that Jensen’s ever seen. His buddies blink at him. Jensen bites her lip to keep the sudden urge to giggle from giving her away. Smith rolls his shoulders and whoa, he’s a big guy. That’s pretty intimidating, Jensen has to admit. “How about you soldiers go find yourselves doing your duty before I report this conversation to your CO?”

They grumble but get up to go. At the edge of the fence, Bailey says “Better not get too attached to this one, Smith. You know what happened to the last kid soldier you decided to babysit.”

Smith stiffens, turns- and they’re already gone. Jensen watches him as he sighs and sits down, like all the will has just leaked out of him. She swallows and steps forward into the light. “I’m not a kid,” she says. He looks up at her and doesn’t say anything. Jensen notes that even sitting on the floor to her standing, he’s only about a foot shorter. She scuffs dust with a booted toe. “But it’s nice to know somebody’s got my back, here.” He looks startled. She rolls her eyes and plops down next to him, bumping her shoulder against his arm. “Thanks for that, by the way. I’d hate to start my career as a soldier of the New Republic with an infraction for beating the shit out of those guys.”

“Do you think you could?” He’s not accusing or challenging, just curious. She can tell.

So she smiles, except it’s a little bit like the smile she saves for her dreams, the one where she finally gets her revenge firsthand on the Fed’s generals. “Oh yeah. They’re like cannon fodder. My instructor would have eaten them for breakfast.”

“Instructor?”

“When I decided I wanted to fight the Feds, I was actually pretty useless. I, uh, hired a personal trainer who taught me how to fight and just generally got me in shape. Can’t be a soldier without the training, right?” She shrugs. “I’m not the best, I know. But I’ve been training pretty hard for the past two years.”

It’s quiet for a minute. Jensen leans against Smith’s arm and tries not to think about the fact that this is the most casual contact she’s had in over a year. “... I’m not trying to babysit you,” Smith finally murmurs. “You’re a soldier, not a kid.”

“I know, right?” But Katie still smiles. “If it’s alright with you, I’m cool with you watching my back. So long as you don’t mind me watching yours.”

She can feel the little jolt of surprise, but doesn’t comment on it. Smith sighs again, but it sounds a lot less tired. “Deal,” he says. Katie Jensen is sixteen when she makes her first friend in the New Republic.

* * *

 

Katie Jensen is eighteen when she really finds her place with the rebels. She’s unusually antsy during downtime this week, and she doesn’t want to share why with anyone else. It’s a dreary, rainy week and that doesn’t help because she’s fifteen and standing in the front hallway in her nightmares. She relives the pain of hearing about her brother’s death the week leading up to the anniversary and the goddamn rain is helping not at all.

She’s taking out her frustration on a punching bag in the gym when she hears “Whoa, what’d the poor bag ever do to you?” She whirls, chest heaving. The intruder, another young female soldier, holds up her hands. “Hey, sorry. You just looked a little mad. Maybe talking about will help?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” Katie waits for her breath to even out and the other girl to leave. Her breathing steadies. The girl doesn’t leave. She perches on a pile of wrestling mats instead, sitting cross-legged and relaxed. Katie struggles for a second to remember who the other girl is. “You’re, uh, Jessica, right?”

The smile she gets in return makes her feel a little fluttering in her gut. Whoa. “Yep. Jessica Sato, that’s me.” She leans back against the wall. “Most people call me Volleyball, though.” Her hair is almost distractingly blonde, Katie notices, all silky strands and little bangs escaping the high ponytail Volleyball had put it in. “Somebody found out during basic that I placed in the championships in high school, and the name kinda stuck.”

“Could you teach me?” Katie blurts out.

Jessica laughs. “I’m sorry, what?”

Katie feels her cheeks flush. “I never got to play sports when I was younger. Parents didn’t think it was ladylike. And then by the time I decided to do the fitness thing and join the New Republic, they’d kinda stopped caring.” Good job, Katie. Real smooth. Not at all awkward and way too serious. She clears her throat. “So could, you- I mean, if you’re okay with- I’d like to, um-”

“I’d love to teach you how to play,” Jessica offers.

\--

She’s actually pretty good at it. At least that’s what her newest friend tells her. Jessica, Volleyball, with long silky blonde hair and pink accents on her armor and a deadly eagle-eye with a sniper rifle. They play one-v-one and Katie doesn’t get her ass kicked nearly as often as she’d expected. Their friendly matches become an almost daily thing, and it’s about a month into the routine that another soldier stumbles in.

“Oh, gosh! Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your game.” The soldier is one from Smith’s squad, a soft-spoken woman named Mireya who was a librarian before the war started. Katie recognizes her immediately because she has a notable scar running across her right cheek - a sniper shot she’d taken pushing Smith out of the way, so he’d described. Jensen likes her immediately. “Um, if it’s not too presumptuous of me... could I play as well? I’m not very good but I know how to play.”

Volleyball waves her over. “Sure. You cool with that, Jensen?”

“Absolutely.” Jensen bounces the ball idly against her hip. “Maybe you can help me lose less drastically to the Republic champ.”

Volleyball laughs. The new girl laughs. Jensen laughs right along with them. The more the merrier, right?

Another female soldier wanders in next week. Then two the next. Before Jensen realizes it, they’ve got a little over a dozen girls playing volleyball together every weekend. They get a little competitive, sometimes. But Jensen feels something unclench in her chest after every game, and she looks at the smiling faces of the women around her and she can’t help but smile as well. It’s during one of these games that she sees Smith slip into the gym and settle himself on the bleachers. Nobody notices until the game is over and suddenly Mireya is waving at him with gusto. Jensen frowns at her enthusiasm, but she’d been on Jessica’s team and so of course she was excited because they’d won. Jensen watches her bounce over to Smith, one of their mutual squadmates also wandering over to talk, and they’re all smiling. Good. Katie can’t help but think about the somber mood of the camp this week - the week they’d lost an entire squad. Gone. Poof.

Suddenly the gym feels infinitely small and she just needs to be out in the air because she can’t breathe.

“... shhh, easy.” There’s a hand, rubbing her back in slow easy circles. “Just breathe, Jensen. You’re okay.”

Jensen tries to clench her fists but instead scrapes her nails in the dirt. She’s on her hands and knees outside the gym, in the dirt behind the ratty building. She’s aware that it’s Volleyball rubbing her back, Volleyball murmuring nonsense words at her while Jensen struggles to let air in and let vomit out. When she think she’s done, all she can mutter is “Fuck.”

“No kidding.”

Jensen gets off her hands, sits back in the dirt. Jessica drops down next to her. “What are you even doing out here? Shouldn’t you still be celebrating with your team?”

“I saw you leaving. Didn’t feel like much like a celebration after that.”

“Oh,” is all she says in reply.

* * *

 

Katie Jensen is twenty when she realizes that she’s kind of oblivious. Her squad comes home after a failed mission. Kimball, in the time since Jensen first met her, has gone from Captain to Commander. She’s also lost a lot of the life and charisma that Jensen remembers her for, but Jensen was held at gunpoint that day and thinks her memory might be slightly skewed. Kimball doesn’t even lecture them for their failure, and isn’t that just a kick in the gut? She takes a look at them, bloody and messy and slumped postures, and just sends them out of her office.

Jensen is shaking at the look on Kimball’s face. That’s not a look a leader should have. That’s not a look she wants to see on the person she’s trusting to guide them to victory - not that look of pure and utter defeat, the one that Jensen glimpsed because only she thought to look back at their commander as they shuffled out. Jensen is shaking and her breathing sounds funny so she doesn’t even stop at her tent to clean her armor. She heads straight for the gym. It’s deserted, which means it’s mess hour.

Just the thought of eating makes Jensen want to punch someone. She settles for the punching bag instead, letting all her fury and disappointment out with each hit.

“What’d the poor bag ever do to you?” comes the familiar question from the familiar voice. Jensen turns to glare at Jessica, which is admittedly not so effective with a helmet. But apparently the force of her turn and the rigid lines are clue enough, because Jessica moves forward and wraps her gloved hand around Jensen’s. “Come with me,” she says, and she starts walking so Jensen has no choice but to follow her. She leads Jensen along the outskirts of camp until they’re behind one of the less used storage buildings.

“Jessica what are you-”

“Shhh.” She pops the seals on her helmet, gestures for Jensen to do the same. This close to the camp’s perimeter, it feels more dangerous. Jensen doesn’t admit that the adrenaline makes her feel better, but it totally does. Volleyball reaches into an armor compartment, pulls out two flat rectangles. She holds one out to Jensen, eyes bright. “Here. This’ll help.”

Jensen takes the thing. Looks at it for a moment. Recognizes it as a chocolate bar. “What…” Jessica grins, peeling back the paper from her own bar. “How did you get this?”

“Swiped it from Felix’s latest cargo. Smith distracted him with inventorying questions.”

“Oh.” Jensen looks down at the little chocolate in her hands. Looks back up at Jessica, who’s already taken a bite of hers. There’s a smudge of chocolate on the corner of her mouth, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy smiling in Katie’s direction. “Oh,” Jensen repeats, and then she leans forward and presses her lips to Jessica’s own.

* * *

 

Katie Jensen is twenty-five when she meets her first ever war heroes. The Reds and Blues. Kimball introduces them a little stiffly, but none of the soldiers seem to mind. Kimball gives a speech that Jensen honestly only half-listens to. She’s too busy watching the way the Reds and Blues interact with each other. Jensen tunes back in just in time to hear Kimball say “As Captains in the Army of the New Republic, each of these men will be leading a select squad. Rosters will be posted in the mess hall at 1700.”

Jensen doesn’t wait for 1700. She goes to Kimball’s office as soon as she thinks Kimball will be back. “I want to be on Captain Simmons’ squad,” is the first thing she says when she walks in. Kimball raises an eyebrow at her, leans back in her chair. “Please,” she adds, when the silence stretches out.

“Tell me, Lieutenant.” She gestures to the seat in front of her desk. Jensen sits. “Why should you specifically be on Captain Simmons’ squad specifically?”

Jensen realizes that she’s not being thrown out of the office. Really, Kimball is being incredibly patient. Jensen takes a deep breath, tries to gather her thoughts. “He reminds me of my brother,” she says, instead of something reasonable and logical. Fuck. Well, there goes any chance she had of getting a spot. She closes her eyes.

“Your brother,” Kimball says. She sounds calm. Even. Not angry. Jensen cracks an eye open. Kimball is looking at her with a decidedly curious expression.

“My brother,” Jensen agrees. She swallows. “Private First Class Tyler Jensen, of the Federal Army.” Kimball doesn’t react, doesn’t move, but her stillness is telling enough. “He was killed in the line of active duty at the age of twenty. Friendly fire.”

“Damn.”

Jensen doesn’t stop. She can’t. She won’t be able to finish saying this if she does. “There was a mix-up in the chain of command. The wrong building got bombed.” She takes another deep breath, lets it out slowly. “His death... that sort of governmental screw-up… that is the reason I fight, sir.”

Kimball stares at her for a long moment. Jensen sits, quiet, and waits for her judgement. “Rosters will be posted at 1700 in the mess hall. I suggest you be there.”

She gets the place on Simmons' squad.

* * *

 

Katie Jensen is twenty-five when the commander of the New Republic gives her the order of a lifetime. “You- you want us to what?” Palomo is unsurprisingly the first to speak.

Kimball is smiling when she repeats, “We’ve got the coordinates for the Reds and Blues. I want the four of you to head up the retrieval mission.”

“Yes ma’am!” That’s Smith, of course it is. He’s radiating happiness beside her. She can hear the genuine affection in his voice. She’s feeling pretty warm and fuzzy herself.

Bitters snorts. “Let’s go fucking get this show on the road.”

\--

They find the makeshift camp but are stopped at its edges by an unfamiliar soldier in teal armor. “Hold it,” she says, stance loose. Jensen eyes the easy way her hand settles on her pistol, at the completely loose and ready stance. She frowns, glad her expression is hidden behind her visor. This must be Agent Carolina. Kimball’s not-quite-warning that freelancers are  _good_ at hurting people echoes in Jensen’s head. “Did Kimball send you?” There’s something threatening in the way she tilts her helmet. “Or do I need to consider you a threat?”

“What the fuck of course Kimball sent us.” Palomo. Not the best at reading people.

They’re saved from whatever the agent may do in retaliation by a shout from Grif. “Just let ‘em in, Carolina! We know these guys!”

She steps aside, barely tilts her helmet in a gesture of go ahead. Jensen pauses, lets the guys go half a step before her. She says “November Romeo to Foxtrot,” the security code that Kimball gave her. It’s like time stops, with the way she somehow seems to surprise Carolina. The freelancer actually tenses a little, breaks her stony facade that Jensen can already tell is a near-permanent fixture. She nods at the agent - a clear,  _I don’t like you but I understand that fighting makes you who you are_. It’s certainly made Jensen something other than the quiet little girl who liked studying gene splicing after school. So she nods and she doesn’t hold her breath for a response. But maybe this Carolina isn’t as far gone into her own mask as Jensen thought. She gets a small nod in return.

She can see Palomo ahead, surprisingly gently putting an arm around Captain Tucker. The bandages around Tucker’s middle stand out against his dark skin, but he’s up and walking so Jensen doesn’t worry about it too much right now. Nearby Captain Caboose and Smith are saluting at each other, like the total dorks they are. The even bigger dorks Bitters and Captain Grif are bumping fists. And next to Grif, looking a little worse for wear but otherwise unharmed, is- “Captain Simmons!” Jensen can feel her legs pumping. She goes at a run, reaching up to pop the seals on her helmet and toss it to the side before she flings herself at the Red and wraps her arms around him. He squeaks, totally undignified and she laughs because it’s so him that she almost wants to cry. She settles for kissing his visor, her braces clacking against the cold material before she bounces back to grin at him. This close she can see how red his cheeks are through his visor. She can hear Bitters and Grif laughing, but she pays them no attention. Her Captain is standing here and he’s alive and in one piece. It’s the best goddamn day she’s had all year. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Simmons squeaks again before mumbling “I’m glad you’re okay too.” He doesn’t flinch away when she tightens her hug, actually hugging her back with confidence. They’re  _alive_. It’s been a long few weeks of confusion and the fight isn’t totally over, but Jensen just revels in knowing that they’re all standing here and they’re  _alive_. Katie Jensen is twenty-five when her world feels like it’s realigned just the tiniest bit.

* * *

 


End file.
